


Winchesters' Guardian Angels

by jay_girl88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_girl88/pseuds/jay_girl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy had a guardian angel after all...he just needed to remember it...A slight AU from 4.02</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reinamarieseregon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinamarieseregon/gifts), [j2_is_life](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=j2_is_life).



> This is slightly AU to how Sam met Cas, and is very Brotherly fluffy! Please let me know if it's enjoyed!

The Winchester Guardian Angels

Chapter one  
Sam remembers

“An angel of the Lord? Like, a guardian angel?” 

Sam Winchester fixed his brother Dean with a look of utter disbelief.

“That’s what he said, basically, yeah,” Dean burst out in agitation, flinging out his arms before letting them drop bonelessly back to his sides in a gesture of frustrated helplessness. “Well, not the guardian angel crap, just that ‘angel of the lord’ stuff.” He huffed out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  
Sam watched his movements, partly in fond amusement, partly in disbelief.

“You don’t…you don’t believe him?” Sam asked in astonishment. How could his brother, after everything they’d seen and then some, believe in all the evil and not believe that there was good out there somewhere too? He’d spent so long believing in some greater being because frankly, in their line of work, you had to believe that there was something good to counteract the years and years of seeing and being in the presence of evil. There were only two things Sam believed in for his whole life that kept him sane; God, and his big brother.

“How am I supposed to believe that, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning against Bobby’s kitchen countertop. “Guy comes and says he’s a freaking angel that rescued me- me, of all people!- from the Pit. It’s ridiculous.”

“Well, then tell me what else it could have been,” Sam challenged. He found himself desperate to make his older brother believe in this. If he could, then Dean wouldn’t be so against having angels- freaking angels!- in their corner. And with the angels in their corner, maybe…just maybe…this road Sam was so afraid he’d been travelling to far on, could end. Maybe he could be saved from what was inside him, despite the fact that he’d been honing those…skills with Ruby.

“All I know is,” Dean pushed himself off the counter in a renewed bout of agitated energy, “I was not groped by an angel.”

“Okay,” Sam consented, trying to find a way to make Dean believe, “look, Dean, why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?”

“Maybe he’s some kind of demon,” Dean threw out, not even sounding convinced in his own argument. “Demons lie.”

Sam threw back his head in frustration with his brother’s mulish stubbornness. “A demon who’s immune to salt rounds?” he demanded. “And devil traps? And Ruby’s knife? Dean, LILLITH is scared of that thing!” he burst out emphatically, trying to make his brother see the gaping holes in his flawed idea.

Dean picked up a slice of pizza from the opened box and sniffed it gingerly. He threw it back in the box before crossing his arms over his chest and deigning to answer Sam’s argument. “Don’t you think,” he started calmly, “that if angels were real, then some hunter, somewhere, would’ve seen one? At some point? Ever?!” Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he looked at his brother. Trying not to sound as awed as he definitely felt, he responded,

“Yeah, you just did, Dean.”

Dean huffed, frowning a little at Sam’s logic. His argument flailing, he latched on to something a little more familiar. Irritation.

“I’m trying to come up with a theory here okay, work with me!” he scowled.

Fighting the growl of annoyance threatening to escape his lips, Sam raised his face heavenwards. “We already have a theory Dean.”

“Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please,” Dean retorted sarcastically.

“Ok, look, I’m not saying we know for sure,” Sam tried to pacify Dean, but tried to get his point across too. “I’m just saying that I think we…”

“Ok, that’s the point,” Dean interrupted, waving his hands to drive his point home. “We don’t know for sure. So I’m not just going to believe that this thing is a freaking angel of the Lord, ‘cause it says so!”

Sam nodded mutely, his irritation building, reminding himself that throttling his brother wouldn’t be wise, especially since he was really ecstatic having Dean back after an agonizing four month absence.

“You two chuckleheads…”

Sam’s head snapped up when Bobby’ voice was abruptly cut off. He looked from his brother to Bobby and back to Dean, alarm growing when neither man seemed to move an inch, both frozen mid-action. Sam shot up from his place, hand going automatically to Dean’s face.

It was cold, smooth. Like he was frozen over by death, because God, Sam would always remember what that felt like. 

“Dean!” Panic burst through him, a lump rising in his throat at the familiarity of his shout.

“Your brother is fine.”

The deep timbre came from behind Sam and automatically, he whirled around, gripping the hilt of Dean’s knife from the waistband of his jeans and wielding it menacingly at the…tax accountant?

“Who are you?” he demanded frostily, “and what the hell did you do to my brother?”

The man glanced at him in mild curiosity, cocking his head to the side in childlike question.

“You and him are much alike,” he nodded at Dean’s prone form. “Always armed and ready to plunge knives in the event of a threat to those for whom you care.”

“Who. Are. You?” Sam repeated dangerously, ignoring the observation and gripping the handle of the knife tighter. The next three words out of the guy’s mouth stopped Sam where he stood.

“I am Castiel.”

Sam slowly pulled back the hand wielding the knife, before what was said really caught up with him and he jerked upright, fumbling in his awe and childlike excitement.

“I am…”

“…an angel of the Lord, yeah, I know,” Sam filled in excitedly, smiling at the tax acc…um, holy tax accountant. A small laugh burst out of him as he considered the ludicrous thought. The trench-coated man glanced at him like a child would a newborn baby.

”I am the one who gripped your brother tight and raised him from perdition,” he stated calmly, like he was telling Sam that he picked up his Algebra homework for him.

“Thank you for that,” Sam said earnestly, trying to convey his limb-weakening gratitude for returning his brother to him with burning eyes. “Thank you…so much.”

“You should urge your brother to bear the same sort of gratitude,” the angel nodded thoughtfully. “He seems to have deemed himself unworthy of being saved.” For once, the angel’s voice broke from its monotony, taking on a surprised, almost disbelieving flavor. “People pray to be saved every day. People much less deserving than Dean Winchester. My Father is merciful. Does your brother not believe in our Father, or does he not believe in his own greatness?” he wondered out loud. Before Sam could cook up a response, he seemed to shake it off, coming back into his shell of stoicism. “Regardless. You must be wondering why I have deigned to meet you Samuel Winchester.”

“Sam,” he corrected automatically, before flushing. “And yeah, the thought has crossed my mind.”

“I am here because we are in need of your assistance.”

Well, damn.

“Need…m-my assistance?” Sam looked at him incredulously. “What can I do, I thought it was Dean you wanted?”

“It is,” he nodded in acknowledgement, “but you seem to be the only one Dean Winchester listens to.”

“You know, you could call him Dean,” Sam grinned in amusement, before wondering whether he was allowed to be this amiable and casual with an angel and promptly flushing again.

Castiel considered this before nodding. “If such colloquialism is accepted, then indeed.”

“What, um…what do you need me to tell Dean anyway?” he asked uncertainly. He tensed his muscles, hoping fervently there was no bad news to break.

“We need you to convince him that this is real, and that we need his help,” Castiel revealed, looking out into the distance. “Most importantly, we need you to convince him that he is worthy, or else this will all be for nothing.”

Sam thought on this for a second. Why was Dean’s self-recriminating nature to do with saving the world?

“I am also here to enlighten you,” the angel added, looking directly now at Sam, who started.

“Enlighten me on what?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Why your brother is worthy,” he said simply. Instinctive anger boiled in Sam and he scowled. Before his mouth could catch up with his brain, he was retorting.

“I know my brother is worth it, he’s a better man than anyone I know,” he shot off. “Dean deserves to be saved more than anybody!”

“And yet you question to yourself why he has an angel,” Castiel returned calmly. “I believe a guardian angel is what you called me.”

Sam flushed, his argument failing and disgust filling him. He had felt ashamed of it the minute the thought had entered his head.

“I…I just, I meant…” he floundered pathetically. The angel fixed him with a look that had a hint of almost compassion in his shuttered blue eyes.

“I am here simply to deliver a message,” he interrupted. 

“What message?” Sam asked.

“You wondered why you did not have a guardian angel,” Castiel stated. 

“I don’t mean that Dean shouldn’t, please,” Sam pleaded for understanding. “I guess…I don’t know the thought just…came.”

“What is your definition of a guardian angel, Sam?” Castiel asked him.

“Someone who protects you, makes sure no harm comes to you,” Sam answered automatically. “Someone watching over you your whole life and making sure you’re safe.”

“November second 1983,” the angel responded.

“The day my mom died?” Sam queried in confusion. When and how did the subject change? 

“If you would be so polite not to interrupt,” Castiel frowned, a miniscule twitch of his brow but a frown nonetheless.

“Right. Sorry.”

“On November second 1983, a house in Lawrence Kansas caught mysteriously ablaze. In any ordinary circumstance, there would have been two fatalities, but there was only one.” Castiel looked Sam steadily in the eye. “Your brother, four years old, carried you to the safety of your front lawn. Protecting you with his own body, he carried you out, mindless of the harm that might come to him.  
March nineteenth 1987, in a park in Santa Barbara, you were swinging and decided you wanted to jump to see if you could fly. The only thing that stood between you, a shattered arm and a near fatal head injury, was your older brother, who in an attempt to catch you, instead cushioned your fall and ended up with a broken wrist himself.  
June twelfth 1992, you were attending a school in Fitchburg. For the first time, you and your brother were in different schools. An older boy was targeting you and tried to steal your backpack while you were waiting for Dean. He would have succeeded, and given you a myriad of bruises and a few cracked ribs to prove it, if not for Dean coming at just the right second and incapacitating the threat.  
February eleventh 1997, you went hunting with your father and brother for a poltergeist in Fort Douglas. You froze for a crucial moment in fear and before the spirit could spear you with your own dropped hunting blade, your older brother stepped in front of you, earning himself 26 stiches down his left arm and a month of running tactical maneuvers as punishment when he shouldered the blame for the incident with John Winchester.  
August twenty-seventh 2000, John Winchester came across college brochures in a motel in Manteca. He had Dean through 3 hours of laps, tactical maneuvers and intensive sparring until he couldn’t stand followed by a severe talking to about what Dean claimed was his brochures, highlighted in specific Stanford University Palo Alto.  
September twentieth 2003, Stanford University was being targeted by a witch with a grudge against the institution after being debarred from further studies, but before it could set foot on the campus lawn, it was directed elsewhere and taken care of by an exhausted Dean Winchester who had driven 9 hours straight to get to you in time before exacting his attack. Dean landed up in ICU with a collapsed lung, but still refused to pull his brother back into the life he had left. He ended up alone in the hospital while John Winchester left in a cloud of anger and you were oblivious on your calm, now-safe campus.  
May eighteenth 2007. After being forced to bear witness to your demise, he did the only thing he could have done. Dean Winchester gave the absolute last thing he had left in the name of protecting his younger brother. On May eighteenth 2007, Dean Winchester sold his soul, and on May eighteenth 2008, he departed this earth for a fate worse than any man’s worst nightmare, with no regret for what had come to pass.  
I was limited to recanting these stories to you in particular, though I am told that there are countless others.” Castiel looked gravely at the youngest Winchester, who was slack-jawed with shock, hazel eyes burning with an emotion indecipherable to the angel. “Our message to you, Samuel Winchester, is this: You were not assigned a Guardian Angel from Heaven, because our Father saw to it that you were already born with one.”

Castiel waited graciously while Sam tried to get his emotions under control. How could he not have seen it? Why did it take an angel to remember what Dean had done for him, what Dean was always doing for him?

“He’s the best guardian angel I could have ever wanted,” Sam murmured, his voice gruff and more than a little choked. He forced himself under control.

“Keep your faith Sam Winchester; Our Father always hears our deepest thoughts. And your brother will always know your deepest self.” He turned away, starting to walk away before stopping and repeating himself over his shoulder: “Keep your faith Sam. I believe you might need it until Dean begins to believe himself.”

And with a whoosh that spoke of the fluttering of wings, the trench-coated man was gone.

“…wanna keep arguing religion, or you wanna come take a look at this?” Bobby’s voice abruptly filled the air once more and Sam started a second before realizing he was back on his own time warp. He shared a look with Dean, wanting to grab him in a hug and thank him for everything he had always done, and just barely restraining himself. They got up and approached Bobby together, Sam leaving his proclamation of gratitude for another time.

Now, he had to convince Dean angels existed.

And he had to prove to Dean that he was worthy. That Dean himself was an angel, of sorts.

Sam’s guardian angel since May second 1983.


	2. Revelations and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters' guardian angels become revealed. Sam realizes what he never saw, and Dean realizes what he never bothered to tell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the response! Please leave a comment and let me know if it's enjoyed! Fair warning; A bit of OOC Dean. But he was kind of in Hell. Give the man a break :)

Chapter two  
Revelations and Realizations 

“Castiel told you what?” 

Dean growled as he pulled the Impala sharply off on to the side of the road. Sam had been trying for days to trap him into a chick-flick moment (Dean guessed four months of him in Hell and Sammy top side would bring that up in the Sasquatch) and he had found his way around Dean’s constant skirting about it by bringing it up in the car; sneaky little brothers, jeeze. 

He started rambling about meeting that crazy little accountant “of the Lord”, and how he never thanked Dean enough and how grateful he was Dean was back among the land of the living. As if he didn’t already know. As if he didn’t know everything about how his little brother felt after holding him tightly in his arms for the first time in months. He didn’t need some touchy-feely moment to know Sam loved him and all that crap, but it seemed Sammy did. And what Sammy needed, Dean always made sure Sammy got, so in true Winchester fashion of never doing something half-assed, he pulled the car over and braced himself for a chick-fest of the worst possible, to-be-avoided-at-all-costs kind. 

Dean shot Sam an incredulous look, bordering closely on a scowl when Sam frowned a little in confusion.

“Castiel told you what?” Dean repeated, his tone gentler this time, but just as firm.

“He just recounted a bunch of stuff you always did for me,” Sam replied, shrugging, not bothering to repeat all the stories he’d told Dean Castiel had told him. “And I wanted to thank you. I never did it enough, and I nearly didn’t have a chance to do it again. I’ll never be able to tell you how glad I am you’re back, man, but I can tell you how thankful I am for all that you always did.” Sam’s cheeks reddened. “He made me see that you’ve been my guardian angel since the day I was born.”

In any other circumstance, Dean would have mercilessly mocked his little brother for those words, but for some reason today, he didn’t. It might have had mostly to do with the fact that he couldn’t believe those words, and that he needed to convince Sammy to see something that Castiel clearly hadn’t.

“Is that what you think?” Dean asked quietly. “That Castiel’s my guardian angel? And I’m yours?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam nodded earnestly. Those big hazel eyes and the love and admiration in them shot straight to Dean’s soul and he decided to hell with it; he was going to chick-flick this moment the hell up.

“He’s wrong, Sammy,” Dean shook his head. Sam immediately opened his mouth to protest, anger flickering in his eyes at what he perceived to be Dean’s self-loathing, before he was promptly shut up by Dean holding up a hand. “He’s wrong,” the elder of them repeated firmly. “I was your big brother, Sammy, and if you feel that the job I’ve done makes me like you’re guardian angel, then fine, I can rest easily knowing that what I’ve done, was just my job. Was my job, since the day I ran into Mom’s hospital room and she introduced me to this tiny little wrinkled thing in a blue blanket,” Dean grinned, punching Sam’s shoulder affectionately when he laughed. “Was my job since you grabbed my finger in one tiny hand and started crying again, when the nurses tried to pull your hand away from mine.” Dean smiled in remembrance, his voice softer and Sam’s eyes suspiciously brighter. “You know, my hand was getting tired from your grip,” he laughed, “but I still screamed right along with you when they tried to take you away. I was convinced you were crying because they weren’t going to bring you back. I actually think Dad started laughing at that; I remember because I was appropriately scandalized.” Sam’s laughter echoed through the confines of the sleek leather and familiar interior of the car that was their home for the better part of both boys’ lives.

Dean angled himself to face his baby brother, catching his eye so Sam got the importance of what he was about to say, because God knew he couldn’t repeat this conversation ever again in his lifetime if he hoped to keep his masculinity. Sam sobered, recognizing as always when Dean had something important as this to say.

“Sammy, I’m honored that you think I was your Guardian angel,” Dean told his little brother frankly. “I’m glad I did that job right, it was always my most important one. But Sammy, Castiel isn’t my guardian angel.”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked flabbergasted in his confusion. “He pulled you out of the Pit!”

“Let’s see if I can cover all the bases our Holy Tax Collector brought up, huh?” Dean smirked. “November second, 1983. There would have been two casualties instead of one. Because Sammy, I was a kid, man, and I was scared, and I was confused.” Somber green eyes met wide brown ones. “I was freaking out. I was seriously considering staying in my room, and I might have burned along with mom, or worse, caused all of our deaths, if I had. But I heard you cry. I knew you were there somewhere in the flames and I knew it was bad. More than anything else, I knew I had to get to you. I sucked it up and I ran towards your crying, then dad gave you to me and all I could think, was to get you away from the orange stuff. There would have been more casualties if you hadn’t cried out, for ME, I was sure at the time.   
March nineteenth of ‘87. You wanted to fly, Sammy. I remember seeing you hurtling towards the ground; man, gravity always was a son of a bitch.” A huffed laugh. “I reacted instinctively, tried to catch you, and cushioned your fall instead. You were fine, and how could I give a damn about a broken wrist when it meant you were still alive and fine? Besides, with Dad staying home to look after you since I was out of commission, he skipped out on that hunt for a black dog. The hunter that took his place was surprised by a mate, who ended up tearing him into puppy chow before she was taken out by another hunter a week after she killed him.  
June twelfth of ‘92. After everything that went down with the Shtriga, even all this time after, I was still terrified I would mess up and I wouldn’t be able to protect you, keep you safe. I was considering drastic things, man, to make sure Dad would be the one to look after and protect you, because I was convinced I couldn’t anymore. Anyway, we were in different schools that year for the first time, and suddenly, a bad feeling overcame me, man. It was like I could feel your fear. I didn’t think on it, I jumped up, tore out of History like a bat out of hell. Got to you in time to stop that asshole Hank Feldman from ripping you a new one. I didn’t need to consider that stuff anymore, because I figured something was still right, was still okay, if I could still protect you. Could still sense you the way I could since you were 6 months old.  
February eleventh of ‘97. You froze on that stupid poltergeist hunt. I kept trying to tell Dad you were too young to be getting into that shit but he was being too stubborn to realize it. 26 stitches later, I still considered myself to be the lucky one, because I got there in time. Because I didn’t lose you. Because saving you, meant saving me, little brother.  
September twentieth of ‘03. Some witch was going Queen Diva Bitch after getting kicked off your campus, and was trying to hex all the students who were enrolled there. I ganked her ass, but I landed in hospital. Dad wanted to tell you and I fought with him. Eventually he left too, and I thought he was going to get you. I panicked, pulled off my IV and tried going after him, because I didn’t want you forced back into hunting. I undid all the surgery work they had done on my internal wounds and ended up in a coma. I could hear and perceive everything around me, though, and when the doctor was checking my vitals once, she mentioned that you were my next of kin and if I didn’t wake in the next 72 hours, you would have to be called in to make medical decisions on my behalf. I realized Dad hadn’t gone to fetch you from school, so I calmed down and just focused all my energy on waking up. God knew I didn’t want you receiving that kind of call. The thought of you having to…it made me fight. And fight. And fight. And I made it out, against all odds; before 72 hours were done, I was awake and coherent, mostly.  
On May fifteenth 2007 I was forced to watch that dick run a knife clear through your spinal cord, Sammy. And that was when I realized I couldn’t live with you dead, so three days later, I sold my soul. When May eighteenth 2008 came, and my deal came due, I left knowing that you tried to save me, I left knowing that you loved me and that you were safe. And I left knowing my purpose was finished.”

Sam sat silent, enraptured as Dean told his side of the tale. Taking advantage of his brother’s enthralled state, Dean made his final point.

“See, Sammy? You were my reason to keep on going, you always were. Castiel may have been the one to raise me from the Pit, Castiel may have been the one to bring me back to life, but Sammy, you always kept me alive. For 25 years, you kept me alive because your very existence gave me a reason to actually bother trying. Castiel isn’t my guardian angel, Sammy, but you always were.”

Sam was silent as he digested this, his emotions overwhelming as he forced back tears. Finally, he did about the only thing he could do; he launched himself into Dean’s chest, tall as he was, the same way he used to when he was 4 years old and terrified of thunderstorms. 

And he would deny it to the ends of the earth, but damn if Dean didn’t hold on as tight as he did back then too.

Both Winchesters feeling lighter from their discussion, they smiled at one another; genuine, out-and-out green eyes sparkling and dimpled cheeks showing kinds of smiles, that they hadn’t shared in more than four far too long months.

“You know, you never mentioned shouldering the blame with Dad for my Stanford brochures,” Sam wondered quietly.

“Freebie,” Dean smirked, “because I’m an awesome big brother.”

Sam laughed, all the while thinking that yes; Dean was indeed the best big brother in the world.

“Ok, Sasquatch,” Dean grinned eventually. “Can we get the hell out of here before I grow a cleavage and you start PMS-ing?” 

“Looks like it’s too late for you,” Sam smirked. Dean pretended to look affronted, but replied knowing Sam would hear his unspoken words, the same way he could always hear Sam’s.

“Bitch.” (Love you Sammy. You were always my guardian angel Little Brother, even if you never knew it.)

“Jerk.” (I love you Dean. You were always my guardian angel Big Brother, even if you never knew it.)


End file.
